The Grimm Adventures...

To be honest Arusha did not do much for me, as a city nor as an experience, not to say that there were not certain instances that were interesting or fun. There was nothing in particular that was wrong with it. The people were very nice, the stores were adequate, the taxi we took was quick and safe and the hotel was as comfortable as we could expect. I think that the fact that it was a city and that it was busy and crowded made me long to be back in Haydom. I enjoyed hunting down items that would make life easier and bargaining with the odd shopkeeper for a sniff of a deal. I found it interesting to see the differences in the state of various shops and the way the shopkeepers dealt with us.

My favorite shop was the Arusha Variety Store, where we went to compare prices with the London Bazaar located next door. The store was a U-shaped place with glass counters displaying household goods from towels and bed sheets to tongs and bread pans. The owner was a friendly man on Indian origin who had a nice local guy as his gopher. His Mother, wife and youngest daughter looked on as we browsed unfettered. Once we had taken a good look around we needed assistance to get a closer look at his wares.

We needed a whole slew of stuff for the kitchen and bathroom, and we had seen much at the London Bazaar and knew how much we wanted to spend. That amount most likely differed greatly from the fair price but we were oblivious and also to some extent, I suppose, desperate. The first item we came to, also the first on our list of necessary to continue, were bath towels. There were a number of quality levels and we settled on three of the softest, yet most durable looking and feeling ones. The shopkeeper commended us on our choice. We moved through tea towels, a kitchen knife, among other things before we got to the bread pans. I had seen some next door for about 5,500 each and the ones here appeared, at a distance, to have a posted price of 4,000. Upon closer inspection the tag said 14,000; too much of a difference. I pointed out the discrepancy to the shopkeeper letting him know the price next door. “My friend, my friend, my friend,” he said pulling one down from the shelf and tapping its bottom, “you do not know about the quality. Let me tell you about the quality. Notice the thickness of this pan; the ones next door are the local brand; low in quality. This is Teflon coated, theirs are not. This is direct from India and the one next door…pht…It is not as high quality, let me assure you!” He finished his rant, out of breath. “No thank you.” We said in unison. It was obviously no skin off his nose as he went on the next item we needed; pillows.

There were three levels of pillows, each with its own price and set of features, which our new friend did not hesitate to fill us in on once his gopher had retrieved them from upstairs. “This one was all cotton, this one feathers, this one poly. This one was 3,500, this one 4,500 and this one 8,000. You will not sneeze from this, this one is softest, the feathers of this one are divine.” He stated without taking a breath, “I recommend this one for comfort, this one for sleeping lightly and this one for…well, I guess they are all good for sleeping!” he continued, “Which would you prefer?” We settled on the middle model and then set our eyes on the coolers.

There were two coolers, a large one and a small one. Nicole thought that the large one was 70,000 when it was actually 75,000 so when I asked for a deal on the cooler, considering all we were buying, she thought we’d get it for somewhere in the high 60,000s. Our new friend at Arusha Variety store thought a moment and said, “72,000.” I thought this was all right, three grand is three grand. Nik on the other hand had an audible laugh and looked at him a bit sideways. She looked and me and said something like, “he can’t be serious, its only priced at 70,000!” We all had a good laugh when Nik found that the price had been 75,000 and as the gopher packed our things I asked the shopkeeper about himself.

I wondered how this man had come to own a store in the busy heart of Arusha. He had been there since 1974 when he began working with his father who had owned the store before him. I joked that he must have been 3 or 4, and he did not take this in the lighthearted tone it was intended. He made us aware that he had taken, “all the standards at school” and not wanting to continue his education, he had turned to earning money alongside his father. He downplayed making any real money in his 30 plus years in business and I played along. He asked us where we were from. When we said Canada his eyes lit up and he asked what city. We still call Victoria home and that was our reply. But, in the ‘it’s a small world’ vein, didn’t he have a sister who lives in Edmonton. We quickly talked about how we had been in Edmonton before coming to Tanzania and we talked about the differences in weather and culture before making our exit. It was a great experience, shopping at the Arusha Variety store, and I highly recommend dropping in if you are in town. Just don’t buy their bread pans.

Pillows

So as you read above, pillows were very near the top of our shopping list. In Haydom, we had pillows but they were not very comfortable. We thankfully, brought Abby’s pillow from Canada but had left ours behind due to space concerns with our luggage. So the two we bought at the Arusha variety store were a very welcome addition to our possessions. The hotel pillows were rocks in bags and made sleep very difficult. So when we returned to the hotel the new pillows were taken from their plastic and tested. Nicole found them not very comfortable at all. I tried one and after about ten seconds I looked at the girls and said, “what is that smell,” with my nose turned up. They didn’t know, and I soon realized it was the pillow. There would be no sleep on these, at least not without nose plugs. We thought it may just be the plastic smell from being inside the bags but it did not go away after hours of airing out. Nik tried to sleep on one that night and had a fitful sleep and awoke with a sore neck. So the hunt for pillows continued.

That afternoon I went to the London Bazaar and an electronics shop (for a surge protector) and found that the London Bazaar had its own trio of “quality pillows”. The owners of the London Bazaar were a no nonsense father-son team. The father had been there the day before when we had spent a bunch of money on kitchen items and was more willing to give me a deal. The son would say a price and the father would slash it by 5,000 shillings without my saying a word. Perhaps he could see I hadn’t slept well or was hoping for future business, either way I was happy and again took the middle of the road model. It had an actual label, poly-fill and was hypoallergenic; all qualities I valued. It also felt soft through the plastic. I loaded the pillows in the taxi with a sideways glance from Godlisten, the driver and we headed back to the hotel.

That night Abby and Nicole used the new pillows and while Abby was happy with if it was much too tall for Nik. I had joked with the London bazaar family that I would bring them back after a night of use if they were not up to par, but the reaction told me that would not be acceptable, so we decided to find Nik a good one, as she had not slept a full night since we arrived in Tanzania. We later stumbled on a bedding store near the Shoprite and though their pillows were more expensive it was obvious at a glance they were also of superior quality. So we picked one up for Nik and sleep has been coming to her ever since!

The trip started slowly with Abby, Nik, Emma Stella and I waiting in the front yard with the driver as Abby entertained us by singing and dancing with the umbrella. She does a terrific singing in the rain song and dance bit, and had us in stitches. When I took a turn though Emma Stella and the driver almost lost it with laughter. As the plane had arrived a bit early Jeanine and Tore were rounding up Jeanine’s stuff and hauling it up to our place. We had room in the truck to take Emma Stella home, and when we were all ready we climbed into the back of the Land Cruiser and bumped along the short road to the airstrip.

We were not too optimistic about finding room for all of our things in the plane, as Flying Medical Service has pretty small planes. But our pilot, Frank had done this sort of thing before and quickly found room for all of the baggage and us. With the emergency supplies stowed beneath the plane with the tent and lion repellent and our seatbelts fastened Frank hollered, “Clear!” out the window and fired the engine.

The mud clung to the wings and struts as we taxied up the sopping runway. I looked out the window and saw that Frank was testing the brakes as the wheel was at a full stop and we were skidding through the muck. He had obviously done this before and was laughing, I assume at the state of the ground, as we quickly got to the top and turned to make our takeoff.

With the brakes on and the flaps out, the engine revved up and we began bounding quickly down the slight hill of a runway. Mud flew up past the windows and at about the halfway point we were airborne. We kept close to the ground until we got close to the end of the runway and with the engine changing its pitch we pulled away from the mud, scrub bush as the crowd looked on. We took a long banking turn over the hospital grounds before setting our course toward Arusha.

The pilot is a good friend of Tore and Jeanine and with Jeanine sitting in the co-pilot seat she took the controls once we had leveled off. The ground was not so far away and the homes and farms were clearly visible. I snapped a ton of pictures in the first 15 minutes as we approached the Great Rift Valley and Lake Manyara. The ride was rather twitchy, not so much from turbulence but from course corrections that were a little less than smooth. I was fine with the ride but Nik does not quite have the inner ear for small plane flight and was turning a bit green as the ground fell away and Lake Manyara came into view to the west.

The lush woodland gave way to a fertile floodplain with cultivated fields growing crops that I could not identify. I found the farm layouts to be very interesting and sporadic. There would be a small round cordoned off area with cultivated fields going out in random directions with seemingly neither rhyme nor reason for their size or shape. Some fields had recently been flooded out with the telltale ruts and trenches running through them.

The flooding was not confined the fields; as we approached a small lake to the east of Lake Manyara Tore explained how much bigger it was on this day than the last time he had driven by. The lake was the colour of coffee with cream and shimmered brightly where the sun broke through the clouds. It looked nice but I would not have wanted to water ski on it. The slalom course could have run through the acacia trees that were standing in the deep water far from the shore. I found myself wondering if there were any homes scattered amongst the marine-acacias and hoping there were not. I had heard that in the valley below Haydom there had been 10 deaths due to flooding and I wondered if in this area the people were more prepared as it was, after all a floodplain. Shortly the area of abundant water gave way to dry grassland and the clouds closed in.

The bumpy ride became a little less comfortable as we entered some “weather”. The rain was falling to the west and the clouds were dense all around us. It continued to be very beautiful and we soon flew through the center of a rainbow. It was more of a rain doughnut as it arced over us and connected under us as well; it had all of our heads pressed to the windows for a full view.

As we got within 30 minutes of Kilimanjaro International Airport (KIA) the landscape changed again and we were flying over low mountains and wooded grassland. There were still farms galore but the scattered hills and mountains grew as Mount Meru came slowly into view. It was clear that this had been an active volcanic area and I saw a crater that Tore and I decided had been a volcanic vent that had collapsed into itself. I found it fascinating – as I do most things here – to see the interesting landscape and the changing foliage as we approached KIA.

As the runway came into view so did the tallest mountain in Africa. Kilimanjaro was showing itself through some puffy white clouds with a background of dark sky and was massive and brilliant with snow contrasting with its rocky surface. I was in awe of its size and its beauty and I must have snapped 20 pictures before we were on solid ground (see right for an example). After we swooped in for a landing and came to a full and complete stop at the end of a short line of similarly small aircraft, I took a few more pictures of Kilimanjaro and the rest of our new surroundings.

The airport was not so busy, with a small Precision Air turbo prop landing just ahead of us and an Air Ethiopia jet taking off as we cleared the runway. I snapped a couple of shots of the planes and then noticed an interesting site; a group of men, presumably airport workers, playing volley ball just to the side of the runway. Try as I might I was unable to get the surging jet in the frame with the volleyball action. Hamna Shida (no problem)

We organized our small amount of luggage and followed Tore and Jeanine to the terminal and exited to the curb. We said our goodbyes and wished our friends a nice holiday in Zanzibar and turned to face the fray of taxi drivers. Nicole, who has better bargaining skills in Swahili tried to get us a fair price for a ride into Arusha. The drivers were having none of it and stood by the price of $50 US, which was posted on a sign beside them. The sign looked anything but official to us, but it was the gospel to them but we stood firm. As we talked further we were finally able to turn the 50 to 50,000 Tz Shillings, as I called it the residents rate. This bought us a ride in an older Toyota corrola type car that had not seen a vacuum since it was very young.
I became filthy during my attempt to make the ride safe for Abby. We are big on the use of seatbelts and especially for Abby. So, my task was to dig beneath the seat and locate the safety device hidden there. This was not an easy task and the driver insisted on driving away prior to my reaching success. Nik was trying to make him stop but all we know that is close to stop is slowly so she, and I too, kept saying, “slow, child (in Swahili) Seat…Belt (in English).” The driver was seemingly thoroughly confused by our speech and smiled and repeated, “yes, yes,” as he continued onto the roadway.

I dug and dug for the belts but as I found one end the other was either gone or the locking mechanism didn’t work. I finally secured her behind the driver’s seat with two ends that fit together and a retraction device that did not. So Abby was synched back into seat with the seatbelt slack tied at her side. I on the passenger side was unsecured and envisioning a quick flight through the front window with an abrupt stop on the back of the truck in front of us.

This morbid vision soon left me, as did the view out the front window when dusk set in. The darker it got outside the lower our visibility became. The windshield of the taxi was so badly scratched – from the abrasion of the wipers and I assume from cleaning – that once darkness set in, we could not see where we were going. As if it weren’t bad enough, the traffic was getting heavier in both directions and the more lights there were the worse our vision became. If lights from behind hit the window at the wrong angle we could see nothing but the glare off oncoming lights. The only time we had any visibility at all was when there was no traffic around us and the taxi driver had his high beams on. Let me tell you this was rare. It was in these rare moments that I would will him to “drop a cog and give ‘er anvil” (get the lead out and make up some time). However, instead of utilizing a lower gear ratio to increase his velocity, he would put it in 5th gear – no matter how slow we were going – and chug along with the speedometer not registering anything above 35Kmh. I was literally losing my mind in the backseat thinking, ‘I have my international license, I wonder if he’d let me take over?’ Of course I didn’t bother to ask, what with the language barrier and all I could end up riding on the roof and going in the wrong direction.

In my bid to remain sane I started to try to figure out how he was staying on the road. I found that there must have been a light sensor in the grill or somewhere on the front of the car that was tied directly to the throttle, because every time a vehicle approached our acceleration would cease and we would coast past them. After they had past the throttle would magically re-engage and we would pick up a little momentum again. The steering also seemed somewhat automated, though its parameters were less precise than the throttle’s. There were many instances when the oncoming vehicle would have to honk at us and the driver would reef the steering wheel to the left (they drive on the left here) and then to the right again to stay out of the ditch. I didn’t realize how awful this visibility problem was until we were approaching a small bridge with a large truck coming at us from the other side. The truck honked for us to move over but the driver, I assume knew we were almost at the bridge and, did not adjust our course. At the same time a vehicle behind us pulled out to see if he could pass – his high beams were on – giving us a momentary view of our position, which was smack in the middle of the road with the centerline running directly under the center of our car. Needless to say with this new information the automated steering system took over and moved us out of the way of the approaching truck and back into our lane.

This trip would normally take an hour but was the longest hour and a half of my life and the only reason I am not in therapy now is that Abby was with us. She was a delight to ride with, noticing the shape of the clouds at dusk, ooing over the size of Mount Meru and putting on a show with her stuffed Easter Rabbit. It was a hoot to listen to her make up new songs about the bunny and choreograph bunny dances to go along with them. While my mind trying to think the worst, Abby was bringing me back to the real world and grounding me in her fun. It was great! And, then we finally arrived at our hotel.

The Impala Hotel, these words made our friends in Haydom swoon at its decadence and coo at its luxury. I would have done both as well if we were to stay in the lobby. The room was nice, modest and clean but not luxurious and the only decadence I found was that it had a bidet (unused by us). It was late and after a pretty good meal in the restaurant downstairs we went quickly to bed.

Sleep did not come easy at the Impala and I for one lay awake for some time. This was mainly due to the noise coming from the hallway which was load and continuous throughout the night. Hearing the hallway noise was due to the way the bathroom vent was set up; it is a 3 foot by 2 foot screened opening that vents directly into the hallway. The hallway itself has a solid floor that does little to absorb the sound made by high-heeled shoes that clomp up and down the hall all night. But, eventually sleep came, only to be disrupted by the sound of a key jiggling in the lock, and the door opening. My mind was telling me someone had just broken into our room. Was it true? It couldn’t be. But then I saw the culprit walking toward me and for a brief moment I struggled with fight or flight. ‘Where is my Swiss Army knife?’ ‘How heavy is the lamp?’ were a couple of the thoughts racing through my brain, but then it hit me…it was Nik returning from the bathroom. I breathed an audible sigh of relief and promptly passed out again into a deep sleep until the other guests on our floor decided to do a Riverdance routine in the hall at 3AM.

More on Arusha to come.

We got up in the morning thinking a lot about where we should stay for the duration of our trip to Arusha. We had spoken to some folks in Haydom about a place called the Outpost Lodge; it was smaller and cheaper, and had a pool and TV’s in every room. So I looked them up in the 3-year old phonebook in our room and gave them a ring. Or at least I tried too. The number was out of service. I tried all possible combinations to dial them: without the city code, with the city code, with no zero at the beginning of the city code. I was stumped. We determined that the number was no longer in use and that the phone book was out of date. We decided that sending text messages back to Haydom to inquire about the number was the best idea. I sent a couple of them and we went down for breakfast.

The restaurant in the Impala was strictly for breakfast and had a buffet and provided off the grill orders as well. We loaded up on mini Crousants and bread with jam and sat down to await my eggs and sausage. With Abby’s newfound affinity for sausages she was having a difficult time being patient but the order came out quickly. We shared some wiener-type sausages with a large bottle of water to wash down our Malarone. During breakfast Dr. Olsen replied to my text message and we set off to the room to find out if we could get into the Outpost.

Dialing was once again a challenge but with the three numbers we had been provided I thought it would be a snap. I made several attempts at dialing the first number, using the above combinations, then moved to the second with still no luck. Finally I gave up and decided to ask the front desk how to call from a cell phone to a landline within Arusha. So down the elevator again and I made my enquiry; I was told that the number was for Nairobi. I scoffed at this as the city code was definitely for Arusha (27) so I had the receptionist ask someone else how it was done. I had neglected to add a zero to the City code at the beginning of the number and when I did this the Outpost’s phone rang and we were able to get a room after they had confirmed that there was a swimming pool. So we hauled our luggage down stairs, checked out, and found a taxi (with functioning seatbelts that is, the third one that approached).

The Outpost was not far from the Impala but off on a side road past the heavily secured Barclay’s Bank. It was a nice street with large homes, large trees and large potholes. But we bounded down to the Outpost and were greeted by a friendly Masii warrior with a large knife strapped to his belt. The lodge was made up of a series of single, double and triple roomed bungalows with lush foliage of Canadian house plants growing wide, palm trees, Bird of Paradise trees and Banana trees. It was beautiful and the people were just the same, open, friendly and smiling broadly.

We found our room and using our Skeleton key on attached to a small board entered. The room itself was rather large with three single beds resting under their mosquito nets. The bathroom was modest with a shower, old toilet and double tapped sink. It was rustic but we could tell from the drive down that it would be quiet at night. We did a quick recon of the pool and restaurant and were pleased with what we found. The restaurant was an open-air affair with couch seating and deck chairs throughout. The pool was small but clean and had a small waterfall flowing into the deep end. We returned to the taxi to head to town.

Godlesten our new rafiki cab driver was well versed on the various places we need to go and as quickly as possible took us to the Bookmark book store that Nicole and Shannon had gone to last year. I was excited to see it as Nik had described a large shop that along with its books had served large dessert items along with Coffee, which I could have used at that moment. We drove through some heavy traffic on our short jaunt into town, and as it was still early in the morning I was surprised at the number of cars that were going in either direction. Godlesten commented that Arusha needed more roads and we talked about the city and the volume of cars. But our conversation was abbreviated by an apparent language barrier. I was happy to see that the Bookmark store was off the main street and was bright and clean on the outside. Inside was similar but I was surprised at the size, rather than the large store that Nik had talked about, it was rather small and cramped. Nik too was surprised by its size and commented on how it had been much different a year ago. There were still many books – though none of them very recent – and no food at all. I was a bit discouraged but we routed around and found a few books for Abby, so it was a positive visit.

Godlesten was waiting patiently outside and was very helpful as we loaded into the car and continued on our way. The more we drove with him the less of a language barrier there was and our conversation continued to flow, mainly about the shops we wanted to visit and how long we would stay. When he realized that we planned to use his services for the remainder of our stay he perked right up and we had made a new friend.

The main road through town, Sekoine, was busy as any main street we had driven down. The diesel fumes were intoxicating and thick. The variety and age of the cars was as diverse as the wares of the street vendors lining the crumbling sidewalks. The cyclists were, as Godlesten and I agreed, crazy, as they wove through the speeding traffic with seemingly little regard for their own safety. I was amazed to see pedestrians stepping out between the cars and trucks in a bid to cross the road. It was a case where the largest thing (car, truck, motorcycle, bicycle, pedestrian) had the right of way and everyone seemed to know this intuitively. I was amazed that we did not see an accident at every corner. The evolution of this traffic system must have seen its fair share of survival of the fittest. Those who did not learn… did not survive. I looked at all of the bookstores for a guide to Tanzanian traffic survival but could not find it. I suppose from the lack of accidents that they were sold out and everyone studied at night.

The number of cars on the street was only outdone by the number of vendors and shoppers on the sidewalks and side streets. After Bookmark we were off to Rushda’s, a grocery store just off the main road. The store was not very large, it would compare to a 7-11 in Canada, but was jam packed with supplies, much of which we were after. We took our time and fully stocked our shopping cart in the narrow aisles. We picked up flour, veggie oil by the gallon, sugar, salt, tea, crackers, cookies, coffee, juice, jam, peanut butter among other things that are unavailable in Haydom (or are of low quality and sparse quantity). With an over flowing cart we hit the one and only checkout. Here a very friendly guy unloaded every item and read out the price to the guy behind the counter. Then each item was packed – very well – into a box. We left with three boxes of goods ranging in weight from holy crap it takes two to lift this to let’s play some catch with this one. I was a little worried about the holding power of the heavy box as it had originally held a quantity of Wheatabix, which, as you know is not a heavy product. We slammed it all into the trunk of the car and headed down to the Shoprite to check things our there.

The road to Shoprite was long but when we caught our first site of it we could tell it would be worth it. It was the size of a Costco (HUGE) with a small strip mall attached that catered to Wazungu (us). We made our way along the strip mall. We found a terrific little coffee house that had its own roaster and the smell was divine. They had a variety of beans for sale and as I sniffed each barrel I became a little closer to heaven. I purchased a bag of ground coffee and had the best espresso I had consumed in quite some time. After that I do not remember what else we saw because I was lost in my coffee. Well not really. We continued around the strip mall past a video store, hair salon – or saloon as they call them here – there were a few safari companies and on the other side were restaurants. We stopped in for gelato and relaxed in the shade at an outdoor table before venturing to further fill the taxi’s trunk.

The Shoprite was as I said, massive and looked much like a western grocery store but there were definite differences. We picked up a trio of folding deck chairs for afternoon relaxation and if the price were in Canadian Dollars we would have been broke already at 22,000 Tz Shillings each however it was a bargain. The fruit and veggies were somewhat similar to Canada but the differences were there and though they did not jump up and bite us we were aware. They had some brands in spades and only a few items from others. It was clear that they get only what they can when they can. Some items were unavailable altogether, like crackers, they had one type of one brand and when we got them home the bag inside the box was already opened...Opps, though I don't know how we would check for that.

There is much more to tell about Arusha but this is already getting long so I will
break off now and hope you will read the next installment when I have time to write it.

So if you have already made your Haydom shower, this repair kit should and instructional guide should help you. For my purposes the repair kit included the following tools.

Tool List

1 – small paper clip
1 – Canadian Loonie (as screw driver)

Instructions

Use Loonie to unscrew the bottom – spray head – of the showerhead. This is the part that has a number of holes in it that the water comes through – or in our case, the place where water does not come out. Though it takes a while to unscrew, do not get discouraged because it is a rather long screw. Once the spray head is removed, take the paperclip and insert it into each and every hole. The paperclip should make a light grinding sound in each hole. Repeat until all calcification is removed from all holes. Be sure the O-ring is not damaged or bulged due to pressure forcing it from its seat. Run some water through the spray head to ensure all blockages are removed.

By hand, start to screw the spray head back into place. Ensure that the O-ring sets in the seat. Use the Loonie to snug the spray head in place. Test by turning on the shower; if it comes out like a rain storm you have done your job.

To repair the simulated Haydom shower the steps are quite simple.
1. Print out the instructions from my previous post.
2. Turn the page upside down and read the instructions in reverse order.
3. Wherever it says secure swap in the word remove.
4. Once you have removed the parts, turn on your shower, keep it quite hot to have a true simulation.

Materials
- 1-liter yogurt container
- 1 sharp knife
- 1 garden hose (attached to outdoor tap)
- 0 shower curtains
- 1 indoor fan
- 1 large garbage bag or 10 small plastic shopping bags
- 1 garbage disposal or 1 meat grinder
- 1 large piece of course sand paper or steel wool
- 10 Tablespoons fine sand
- 10 inches of duct tape

With the knife, cut a 2-inch, thin hole along the bottom edge of the container. Then on the opposite side, still on the bottom, cut 2, 1-inch slits 1 inch apart. If you look at the bottom now it should appear to be a squinting happy face with no nose. Next take the plastic bag(s) and run them in the garbage disposal until they are well shredded. For best results run the garbage disposal without water. Or run them through the meat grinder to a nice shredded consistency and set aside.

Set the fan on the bathroom counter, pointing at the tub. You may leave it off for now, but remember to turn in to low when you enter the shower. With course sandpaper or steel wool, scour the bottom of the tub in a 6 inch by 2 foot section starting at the drain and working your way to the back of the tub. The goal here is to achieve a distressed but clean look. To add the finishing touch to the bottom of the tub, take the fine sand and work it into the tub base first with it dry and then add a few drops of water to create a paste. Let stand.

Using half the duct tape, secure the yogurt container to the showerhead so that all the water from the showerhead will have to run through your holes. Next, with the remaining duct tape attach the garden hose to the side of the yogurt container. Be sure that the stream from the garden hose will follow a parallel path to that of the yogurt container.

For a more “realistic” simulation the following materials are required.
- 1 12 volt car battery or a large 6 volt flashlight battery.
- 2 short pieces of scrap wire long enough to reach from the floor outside the shower to the end of the garden hose
- electrical tape

Attach one end of one of the wires to the + terminal on the battery and the other end securely (so it will conduct electricity) to the copper on the end of the garden hose. Attach the other wire to the – terminal on the battery and secure it to the garden hose so that it is insulated from the copper end. Allow the exposed wire to dangle so that it will contact the cold water trickling out the end of the hose.

You are ready to get wet. Enter the shower and be sure to at least put your toes in the scoured portion of the tub for a short time. Be sure your fan is running. Turn on the hot tap to 1 quarter and the cold tap to about 1 sixteenth. It should be so hot that you can barely get under it. Now have a trusted friend, or spouse, turn the garden hose on so it trickles out. If you took the power shower approach the best way to tell if it is working is to put your head or hand in contact with the cold water just below the loose wire. Feel that? Ok, if this is too much for you, try getting your head sort of close, close your eyes and pretend you are staring at the end of the garden hose. If you see flashing light you know it is working.

Shower. The shower should be a total of 1.5 – 3 minutes in length. Once you are finished take the shredded plastic bag and dry yourself with it. Works well eh?!?

There you go your done. Thanks for playing our little game.

Disclaimer: The methods laid out above should only be attempted by trained professionals or professional drivers on a closed course.

We had spoken to Tore and Jeanine about the little pleasures of life in Haydom and one thing that came up was that the pork was really the best local meat to get. They told us of the pseudonym that the restaurants sell it under, which I believe translates to Hot Feet or something like that. There are many who may be offended by people eating pork so the restaurateurs being sensitive to their clientele’s religion keep it out of their faces. Our mouths watered as we spoke about the fresh pork that can sometimes be purchased when Mama Kari has a pig slaughtered at her home.

The next day when Emma Stella was sitting down to lunch with us, she mentioned that Mama Kari was having a pig slaughtered on Saturday and asked if we would like some. After our discussion the previous night, we jumped at the offer. But how much did we want? What was enough and how much was simply piggish? At about $2 per kilo we figured two pounds was plenty for our first time.

Saturday came and we had a nice morning of little visitors in the form of Karina Neema and her brother Olaf Omani. Then we walked with Emma Stella to her home to have lunch and meet her family. It was a very nice day and we spent a couple of hours doing our best to communicate and looking at her yard and livestock. We strolled back home and were called by Mama Kari’s housekeepers, who were on their way home, to come for our meat.

Abby and Nikki headed for home and I followed the housekeeper to Mama Kari’s freezer room. She said she had 2.5 kilos and asked if that were OK. Why not? I said, “sawa.” (sure) She handed me a clear plastic bag with a hunk of meat in it with a long bone sticking out one side of the hunk. I thanked her and carried the bag next door to our house. Now, I don’t know if I have talked about the kitchen knife situation in our house but it is pretty sad. I am used to a good set of sharp knives and here I don’t have that at all. We have a bread knife that couldn’t cut butter until I put a bit of an edge on it and a paring knife that I have to sharpen on the back of the bread knife before I can use it. So I sent a text message to Tore to see if he had any sharp knives I could borrow; thankfully he did. He had just used them to carve up his 5 kilos of pork so though he said the knives were very dull they did the job.

I went over and picked up the two knives and walked home like some slasher-film villain to take my pork apart. I quickly took the butcher knife to the back of my bread knife and in no time had a nice edge on it. I pulled the quite disgusting succulent pork from its confines in the plastic bag and set it on the just washed counter. Where to begin? What was my goal here? What cut of pork is this anyway? Man there’s a lot of fat on this. Homer Simpson would be licking his lips and mumbling, “MMMM Pork Fat!!” I on the other hand had no idea where to start. I turned the hunk over and over looking for an X or some other mark that would signal a starting point. I found none.

Then I decided to just jump in and chop it up. I thought, ‘well I would like a couple of nice pork roasts and probably some smaller pieces that will cook quickly so start hacking.’ And, hack I did. I don’t know how long it took and I really don’t know how I did it but before dark I had freezer bags with enough meat in each for 5 meals. Maybe this is too gross but I was surprised at the lack of blood and sinew that I found. I must say it was a pleasant surprise. Compared to the hunk of beef that Emma Stella had chopped up the week before, this looked like something that one might actually find in a grocery store in Canada. I’ll let you know how it tastes once we get the nerve to cook it.

When we were in Canada Abby was in Gymnastics every Saturday and one of her favorite things to do was to spend time on the bars. She loved to swing, flip and simply dangle from the wooden uneven bars. So one of the things that we promised her was that I would put some kind of bar up for her in the yard in Africa. Well here we are settling in to our new place and the time came for the bar to be put up. As you can imagine from my experiences I would have to go to the garage and talk to my friends there to procure the necessary materials and probably get some help. I suppose I could leave it there and let you use your imagination to figure out the outcome, but that would be no fun for me so I will force you to see my experience through my eyes. I suggest, however that you fill in the blanks with your own view of things so that you don’t get bored.

Nik and I told Abby that I would put the bar together for her in the next day or two and she was positively squealing with joy. She promptly sat at the couch with a marker and a piece of paper and started to draw. Nik and I thought that she was just doodling but after about 20 minutes she called me over, “Dad, can you please take a look at this.” “sure!” I replied, thinking I would be looking at some picture of an animal or human. She sat me down beside her and showed me her page. There were 5 or 6 drawings with only 2 that were not crossed out. Abby, quite seriously, said, “OK Dad, this is what I think the bar should look like.” I was pretty impressed with her rendition, as it was exactly what I had in mind. Two solid posts with a meter of pipe in between to dangle from; simple in design, functional in practice, and most of all easy to build. So the next day after I finished lunch, I headed up to the garage to git ‘er done!

I walked my, now well-worn, path from the house to the garage and looked around for Philipo the foreman. He was not easy to find as he was seemingly hiding in the electronics’ office. When I approached it was clear the he was in a meeting with one of the electricians. Possibly discussing the ladder safety or the concept or parallel lines. Anyway, they stopped talking to see what I was after. I tried to explain what I wanted to build and after a few minutes of no progress I pulled out my notebook and drew it. Philipo gave the look of a light being flicked on with too much voltage and said, “Yes, take what you need!!” and with a sweep of his hand over all the materials in the garage yard was off. I was left to my own devices to find the needed supplies and went to explore. I found the timbers I needed and a rack of pipe, but it was all locked up. Poor Alphonse was in for another go ‘round with me to sort out my business.

I went on the hunt for Alphonse and found him as usual in a shady spot, this time under the shed that houses the backhoe and tractors. He was in a heated discussion with some of the other workers but was eager to help me out. We went to find the wood and I thought I would also need a sledgehammer, so I asked him what the word for hammer is. Nyundo is hammer he told me and as I needed a large one and I knew the word for large was kubwa I said, “Need nyundo kubwa.

I repeated nyundo kubwa a few times and then we walked on looking for the sledge. Then Alphonse asked someone else to help me as he figured it must be in the Welding area. “This man is a specialist!” he said, “He will help you.” We looked around the welding area with no luck in finding the nyundo kubwa so I was sent, once again to find Alphonse. He noticed my confusion and as he approached I said, with arms outstretched in wonder, “nyundo kuma.” – notice the difference – Alphonse could not contain himself and uncharacteristically burst into a fit of laughter with his hands covering his mouth. Once he was, once again, composed he stooped forward and came close to me shaking his head and conspicuously shaking a finger in front of his mouth. Then with hushed voice repeated the correct pronunciation, “nyundo kubwa...kubwa…kubwa. Not,” even quieter now, “kuma, OK?” “Ok?!?” I replied. He looked at me with an inquisitive look and said, “Do you know what you said.” I did not. He laughed a little again and whispered, “Kuma is vaginal,” I had asked him for a ‘vaginal hammer’. I must have looked very embarrassed but Alphonse chuckled and said, “no problem, no problem.” and we walked on to find the big hammer laughing quietly at our private joke.

We eventually found the hammer in a small closet in the back of the welding shop that had not much else in it but a few buckets and I’m sure a few spiders. Having found the first piece of the puzzle I was directed to the wood locker to sort out the timber situation. I looked through the fence and found a huge pile of African hard wood approximately 2 – 3 inches by 6 – 7 inches. It was rough cut but looked perfect for my purposes. It took about ten minutes to locate the man with the key to the wood locker. We eventually found him sleeping in the back of one of the many Land Cruisers and woke him. He was happy to help and showed no signs of being rudely woken. Alphonse accompanied me into the locker and we found a couple of good pieces. I wasn’t very picky and figured anything that was 8 feet long would do. Alphonse however has an eye for detail and wouldn’t let me choose a piece that had the slightest curve in it. I did not want to offend him so I accepted the 2 pieces he selected and off we went.

I was going to take them straight home but the hard wood was very heavy so Alphonse grabbed the second one and away we went. As I walked toward the gate, Alphonse detoured into the wood shop, I was curious as to why and was compelled to follow. Alphonse was jabbering away to the boys in the shop and they quickly fired up the rough planner and started to take the crap off the first piece of wood. I was sort of astounded that they were going to this trouble for a child’s toy but was happy that I would not have to do it myself after it was erected. I lent a hand on the second piece as one of the guys took the first piece to a second, finer, planner and ran it through exposing a beautiful grain pattern.

We next lopped off the cracked ends of the boards to give them an equal length and then went next door to the table saws to give each a good point for pounding them into the ground. The table saw “specialist” was very good at his job though I found his lack of closed toe shoes to be a concern for me. I kept thinking, ‘please don’t loose a toe while working on this’. Thankfully his toes were intact and there were nice points of both boards. Now it was time to find the pipe.

I walked to the pipe locker and was followed by a couple of guys who Alphonse had selected to assist me. Of course it was locked but with a large gap between the fencing and the wooden top of the locker. I selected a 3 – 4 foot piece of, what I would call, 1 inch pipe that had a cap welded at one end and a small bend at the other. It looked like scrap to me and was long enough for my purposes, but had to argue with the two guys before I could use it because they wanted me to take a full length of new pipe and cut it down. I was convinced that if the scrap fit the purpose then it was fine. Since we shared few common words in each other’s language they couldn’t really argue and I got my way.

Next we had to find the “specialist” in the area of cutting pipe and drilling holes. This guy was also the welding “specialist” and was currently engaged in welding a patch into the floorboard of a Land Cruiser ambulance. I watched (I didn’t look directly into the spark) and he seemed to be doing a good job though his idea of a welding helmet was his eyelids. That is not to say the actual welding helmet wasn’t beside him on the floor of the passenger side. It reminded me of those cyclists is Canada that ride their bikes through the UVic campus with their helmet hanging from the handlebars. Each time he would finish a small section of welding he would dip his rag into a teakettle – like the one your Grandma had displayed prominently in her china cabinet – and would cool the weld with the water inside. When he was finished I tried to ask him about not wearing the welding helmet. He replied through pantomime by closing his eyes very tight. I next asked with broken Swahili if his eyes hurt at night. I think he said something like from time to time. So I explained what I had been told about putting used, moist teabags on your eyes to ease the pain. He said, “Asante Sana (thank you very much) I have Soda,” as he produced a half bottle of Pepsi from the floor of the Cruiser and took a long sip. I gave up.

Side Bar about tea bags on the eyes.
Does anyone know if this really works? I think this may be something that veteran welders tell the new guy in the hope that he/she will try it and come to work the next day with eyelids stained to the colour of tea. Well… let me know what you think.

So where was I…Oh ya I see it just up there…

We walked over to the drill press, and when I say drill press I know that some of you are thinking of that little number that you have in your garage or workshop, this drill press however, is the mother of all drill presses. It probably weighs just over a couple of tons. The pole that the hydraulic lift moves the unit up and down on has a 12-inch diameter and rises to a height of about 7 feet. The one-inch chuck will accept bit of at least 6 inches. Adam, the welding specialist took the pipe and while my back was turned for a second chopped the cap off the one end and returned to find out what size of bit we would need for the wood. We went into the garage stores and found a very clean set of calipers, Adam measured the pipe at 35mm and we set off to find the correct bit. We quickly located a huge bucket of bits ranging in size from 1 – 4 inches and Adam’s deft hand found the right bit with his first stab into the bucket. So now with the correct bit in hand it was off to the drill press to get some work done.

We secured the bit with a swift smack of a smaller bit and opened the vise to the right size. This operation took another hard smack with the spare bit and we then got “help” from another apparent specialist; this one, a vise specialist. He turned the screw to tighten the vise until it was about a half an inch from being snug and said, “OK good.” I laughed to myself and angled the board so that it was actually snug as Adam set the drill in the center over our mark. The bit was so dull that it took about a minute and a half to get through the wood. I removed it right away to the amazement of the vise “specialist” and we set the next piece in place. Our vise man was keen to tighten the vise this time and smacked it repeatedly with a heavy piece of steel until it was closer to a quarter inch from snug and gave a big smile at his accomplishment. I was more pleased and Adam set the drill in place once more and started our hole. This time he made it most of the way through in about 2 minutes and stopped short of complete to turn the board over. I was a bit surprised as this would mean more vise work but we just flipped it and hit it with the drill quickly and we were off again. We carried our materials to the backyard of the house and Adam set off to find digging implements.

He returned with a pickax and a Tanzanian shovel – a six-foot length of 2 inch galvanized pipe with an 8 inch by 3 inch bent spike at the bottom. Adam and I measured the distance between the posts and, me with the pick and him with the Tanzanian shovel, began to dig. We went down a foot or so and set our posts, took some measurements and dug another 6 inches or so. We again set the posts and began to fit the pipe into each board. I went from one side to the other hitting each side with the nyundo kubwa until we had it just right. It was then that Alphonse appeared with a couple of others bearing a gift.

Alphonse must have seen the guys cutting the grass for 3 days, as he brought me my own golf club grass cutter and offered cement to finish the job. At first I declined but after one of the grass cutting guys helped us set the posts I realized that to make a very secure toy, cement was going to have to go in the holes. So off I went with Alphonse, once again, to find some cement. I should have known by now that I could not do this on my own; that is not to say I am not capable of mixing and pouring cement its just that it doesn’t work that way here. So Alphonse introduced me to the “cement boss” and sent us to find the cement. I shouted back to Alphonse, “Is he the cement specialist?” Alphonse and his small crew laughed out loud and Alphonse shouted back, “Ndio, Ndio!!” (Yes, yes)

I followed Mr. Cement through and around the different hospital buildings, past the medical ward with its overflowing rooms, past Physiotherapy and a few other wards that I didn’t recognize. We came around a building to a small patch of earth where two young women were working with cement on a project that I really couldn’t tell you what it was. They stopped work immediately and greeted me with familiar Swahili and I responded. They quickly started to let fly with more that I did not understand and when I tried to let them know that I only knew a little Swahili they laughed at me – without pointing though. They then started in with more and more Swahili and I felt like a women walking past a Canadian construction site. I smiled at the women as we left and they returned to their work. I again took up my position as the follower and we made our way back through the hospital buildings and emerged close to our house. I kept following and was led directly to our backyard. I am still baffled that he knew where we lived but this seems to be common knowledge among those at the hospital as we are in Canada house…or so it seems.

I retrieved a bucket of water from the rainwater tank and we mixed up the cement, set the posts and began our pour. It turned out that we needed two wheelbarrows full and the cement boss took off and returned quickly with a second load. Once we had the cement in, I used the trowel to make it smooth and the workers took off with my thanks. Adam stayed behind to help me take the tools back to the garage.

I came back and showed the girls and during the rest of the day all our friends as well. In all, I had help from 12 guys. I am happy to have the bar up and Abby’s initials in the cement. After a few days of sprinkling water on the cement morning and night Abby will be swinging and dangling to her heart’s content.

One (+) week into this adventure and what are my thoughts? There are things that surprise me and perhaps a few things that I accept, but there are also things that shocked me at first and now have grown on me. The town has its own set of shocking elements that I am not yet accustomed to. Our home is coming together and with a little help from the guys at the garage our yard will be sorted as well. The hospital community has many interesting dynamics that I have much to learn about.

When we arrived and were standing around the airstrip I was pleasantly surprised by the immediate hospitality. The multi-coloured Land Cruiser pulled up to the plane and 4 people got out, Clementina, who Nicole had met last year, a driver and two guards. Clementina surprised me by greeting us all with hugs, which was a very nice welcome and made me feel instantly accepted. The men with her greeted us in Swahili and we were able to practice a bit of this new language.

These amazing people are very patient with us and seem to enjoy helping our language skills. From the guy in the library to the people in some of the shops, most everyone has had some hand in teaching us Swahili. Of course, Emma Stella, our housekeeper plays a large role in our Swahili; she sits with us over lunch and bombards us with Swahili, in a helpful way. My new Rafiki, Alphonse has always spoken English to me but pushes me to reply only in Swahili. He says, “only speak Swahili and you’ll learn more fast!” So we help each other. When we head to town to hit the shops we sometimes – especially me – have problems with numbers when bartering or asking prices. The shopkeepers find it funny but also slow down and give us a hand with understanding the prices and sometimes make us repeat it so we learn.

The drive in from the airstrip, after waiting for the Cruiser to return provided me with a little anxiety. The road was bumpier than I had imagined, dirt with massive ruts and eroded trenches, there were even speed bumps that I imagine are part of the ruins of long gone buildings. Sharp rocks protrude everywhere threatening to pop the tires of the abundant bicycles being ridden and pushed with only a rider or hauling all manner of things on the rack. The homes and shops were a bit of a shock and I was uncertain as to what type of place we would be living in, and if it were anything like what I was seeing on this little trip I would have crapped.

The security to get into the hospital complex was a little more than I had anticipated. Everyone is funneled into one main gate with a door sized opening for foot traffic and cyclists in a large gate that the security guards open manually for vehicle traffic. There was an obvious increase in the number of people out in the street as we approached the gates and a steady flow through the gate, both in and out. The number of people that ebbed and flowed between the gate and the Hospital, the clinic and the grounds overall, amazed me.

I went into town on Saturday after Jeanine and Frances took me out to the huge market and the sights, sounds and smells that confronted me, threw me off. We parked under a tree in the shade and got out among a flock, or is it gaggle...no, clutch of Chickens that did not care to move away from the scary humans. They weren’t that arresting but the garbage that was strewn all around certainly was. It was everywhere and in many forms; plastic bags, bottles, tin cans, well worn chunks of wood to only name a few. We walked over totally uneven ground that I have now come to call a street, that on that day I was too surprised at the area to even think of a name. The buildings, as I have mentioned, were planted about all willy-nilly like a child’s first garden; Carrots in the Pea's row and Potatoes strewn all around and through the Corn. As we strolled to the vegetable market the landmarks that were pointed out to me for future reference were things like rotten looking fish on a grill that when purchased were wrapped in newspaper that looked like it had spent time in the dirt under the truck, under the tree.

We have decided to try to stay in the small house as it is comfortable and the location is very convenient. Of course the hospital grounds are not that large but with the office right out front, we are only steps from work. Everyone lives just past us, in one direction or another, so we have many drop-ins throughout the day and especially when the workday is done. It is nice to share a coke with one of our new friends and chat about the day. I am surprised at how quickly some of the people here a become friends.

Once we are able to corral a few guys to chop down the grass – with their interesting sawed off golf club scythes – we will be able to run around out there without worrying about snakes or other creatures lurking in the grass.

I have yet to figure out the politics and dynamics of the hospital and I hope to meet some of the employees and learn about how they operate (no pun intended).

Part of my daily routine has been to walk up to the garage at some point to either visit Tore in the IT office or get the shop guys to do some work. This has allowed me to make a few new Rafiki – or friends – at the garage. This is the hub of all maintenance activity from vehicle repairs and wood-working to yard work and welding. There are also a group of guys that just hang out there in the hope that someone will ask them to do something so they can make a little money. It is one of these guys that helped me on our first day here and I have spoken to him a bit each day since.

In that initial meeting, Mama Kari had asked Samuali to help me get our stove working and he had hauled a fuel tank down to the house and got our stove functioning. I made the mistake of offering him some money as a bit of a tip as it was just past the regular quitting time of 4 PM. As it turns out, Samuali has no real job and just lends a hand if some hospital worker needs something done. This, I assume makes for a tough, hand to mouth existence. And, though I empathize with his situation I am not in the position to support him and his family.

Yesterday, as I was sitting in the office, just in front of the house, I saw him approach. He welcomed himself inside and we shook hands and greeted each other in Swahili. He said he was fine and with the language barrier the small talk pretty much ended there. I asked about things at home and again his response was fine. Then he produced a folded piece of paper from his pocket and explained in Swahili that he had a friend help him with it and he handed me the note. On the outside it said, “Mr. Chart”. I unfolded it and it read:

Dear Mr. Chart
I am come to you like friend for the need to begging you some cash money for I am paid until Thirsday. You give me then I retain for you.
Thanks you
Samuali

This created quite a dilemma in my head (this is where the Ping Pong comes in) I bounced between thinking this was almost fine to knowing that it was wrong. He tried to explain his situation of not having work over the Easter break. I assume from his description that Dr. Olsen hires him often to do odd jobs, but with the Olsens away for 10 days he was quite broke. I tried to ask him questions and explain what I was thinking but this was mostly impossible as my Swahili is very limited. In the end I declined and he seemed to understand but was visibly dejected.

I spoke to our friends about this and they were all very supportive of my decision, saying that it would not have been a loan and I would have never seen the money again. I would have also opened myself up for future problems of a similar nature and if word spread that I gave Samuali money we would be pestered relentlessly by others. The suggestion in this regard that we subscribe to is to give when we leave. We should get our bearings, and, if over time we find a person or family that we feel we should help we can provide them with something at the end of our stay.

This does not relieve the pain of seeing someone suck up the courage to beg and have to turn them down. But I am sure that over the next week I will be able to speak with Samuali and not have to worry about this particular meeting.

On my way home from taking some pictures, on Friday afternoon, I bumped into Maria who mentioned the possibility of going for a walk around Mount Haidom. This is something that I wanted to do but at the moment I didn’t really feel up to an hour and a half hike, but when we got to the house she said that she wanted to go right now. Nik and I discussed it briefly and decided that it was up to me to accompany Maria around the mountain. I figured what the heck, Nik and Abby could learn to sing, “he’ll be coming ‘round the mountain when he comes” rather quickly so I got changed and we headed out.

Maria let me know how nice it would be once we actually got to the mountain and how difficult it was to keep the desire to go around the mountain on the 2Km stretch before we would get there. We had to walk through a small part of town, past the church, some shops, a few houses and then along the entire length of the airstrip. She said that the airstrip is a full 2Km long but I have me doubts. But regardless, we reached the brush after a rather warm walk along the flat rutted road to the mountain.

If you are ever looking for the mountain trail it is easy to find. Walking along the airstrip you walk past a couple of rustic homes (my definition of rustic is a little more primitive than it was a few weeks ago) with bottle cap washers helping the nails hold the gates together. You will pick up a small entourage of between one and three children. These little stragglers will find it fascinating that you are walking for exercise and want to hold your hand as you walk or run. If you are on the right path the first entourage will drop off as the road narrows at a couple of three foot deep trenches caused by rain water. At this point, a small family of 4-5 children, who will smile and try to shake hands as you pass, should greet you. If you know some Swahili, this is a good time to pull out a friendly greeting – as we did – as these children are accompanied by a couple of mangy looking dogs who are menacing and timid at the same time.

Dogs are next trail marker. The timid, menacing dogs you just passed are now trumped by a strange looking pack of dogs seemingly led by a light brown and white mutt who growls and stares while backing away in fear through the low brush. There is no view yet other than marker number 3, which is a pastoralist pair of brothers, of about 8-10 years old, herding their thin and boney cows and goats to better grazing. You may not see them but you should hear their bovines and see the signs on the ground of their passing. At this point it would be difficult to loose the trail as it narrows and then opens up to a terrific view of the valley below and beyond to Mount Hanang. At this time of year the crops are a mix of yellow and vibrant greens. The sunflowers stretch to heights of 7 meters and the corn (maize) spreads through fields in all directions.

With the heavy rains this year the trail itself is at times hard to negotiate. There are mildly steep sections that have ravines running down the center as the rainwater had found the path of least resistance from top to bottom of the picturesque mountain. The ground has a thin covering of tiny rocks that have eroded into a slippery layer that resembles ball bearings. Walking on these on a down-slope is made easier if you have had dance lessons because it seems easier if you bounce from toe to toe in a somewhat random pattern of dance steps. The walking is easier once the trail levels around the backside and the foliage complies nicely to allow for views in all directions.

We passed a few people and buildings on our way around the mountain and all seemed as out of place to me as I am sure we did to them. As we were rounding a blind corner we could hear the noise of children ahead. I figured they would be doing some sort of work or playing by their home – though that was a long shot. We rounded the bend and came up behind a bicycle with a huge load of firewood on the rear rack. Firewood here is made up of thin branches that are as crooked as the trail. The method for attaching them to the bike rack is in this case tying them on with thin strips of rag. The two children moving this bike along the trail were about 8 and 9 years old, not much taller than Abby. I was amazed that they could make any headway pushing and riding this full-sized bike laden with a full load of wood along such a trail. We passed them quickly and did not see them behind us again.

We next passed a very new home of concrete with a small yard and a pair enormous spherical baskets (at least 4 feet across) that we speculated were for housing chickens or some other small critters. As we passed, the few children in the yard shouted, “Bye Bye” apparently the only English they know. We waved to them and their huge smiles signaled their appreciation. As we pressed on, strolled really, we bumped into an elderly man in the traditional wrap accompanied by a younger man in more western garb. They were very friendly, asking where we lived and where we were from. I didn’t catch much of the conversation as Maria handled the Swahili with relative ease. The older man had been to the hospital and was now on his way home. He used the hospital receipt to mime that he would like us to give him some money so he could return – the 3Km or so – to Haidom for a soda. We declined and said our friendly farewells and headed off around the mountain.

The strangest thing we past along the way was a store directly on the opposite side of the mountain from Haidom. The little shop had a colourful sign and a brightly painted door. It was closed now but we speculated that they probably sold the basic necessities from dingy shelves and a dusty glass counter. Maria had passed it many times but had never seen it open, however the path to the door was well worn and it all looked very current so it must be open regularly. I will look for it if I pass that way again.

We walked on some flat trails through sparse plant life and came into view of the outskirts of Haidom. It was at this point that I had wished I had brought some water but I knew it was only a few kilometers back to town and I could manage that. As we hit the road by the airstrip I knew we were on familiar ground again and it wasn’t long before we hit the shops and guzzled a soda each. Home was a welcome sight and relaxing felt good.

As I may have mentioned water is cold and full of baddies and minerals so boiling it is essential. We have two means of heating water: the stove and the kettle. The local term for kettle is water boiler. Ours is a mineral caked mess on the inside, but we only use it for washing dishes. It rests on the counter, always full, with its black plastic lid set slightly askew, its red automatic-off switch in the off position – though it sometimes sticks – and its removable cord hanging from its dedicated wall socket. I used the kettle a lot in the first few days as it is quick to boil and easy to use, when it works.

After the third or fourth use in a row the kettle stopped working. I thought nothing of it and learned quickly which was the best pot for boiling on the stove. After playing with the switch and cord for a day or two and learning a bit more of how things work around the workshop, I made an enquiry to see if someone could drop by to have a look at the defective kettle.

It took a while but eventually one of the electricians showed up followed shortly by a second. The boys, as Emma Stella called them, tinkered around with the kettle’s plug, which appeared to be a little melted inside. It was also, seemingly, welded to the adapter, which was in turn welded to the socket. The boys returned to the shop and came back in a while with a small pry bar. They worked at pulling the pieces apart for a bit before one of them decided it might be a good idea to flip the breaker, I agreed. To their credit the sockets here all have an on/off switch on them, but for safety sake we all thought killing the power at the breaker would be the best thing to do.

So they went to the panel and killed the main power and went back to the prying. It wasn’t long before they had broken the bond and had the plug out of the adapter and the adapter out of the socket. However, all that prying left all of the pieces of the puzzle unusable. So they went to work on the socket in order to replace it. It was a good thing that they had their little test light because even with the main power off the socket was live. There was a whole lot of head scratching and some loud Swahili before they decided to climb into the ceiling and trace the wiring to see what the deal was.

The hole to the attic is just outside the kitchen by the front door and the boys quickly gathered the necessary tools for the Tanzanian ladder. With a small table from the kitchen and a chair to step up onto the table the eldest electrician began to climb up. Of course with a table that is less than a meter high it was difficult for a man of about 5’6” to get himself through the hole. So I volunteered my shoulder and up he went.

The darkness of the attic prompted him to quickly ask for a flashlight but with his broken English and my broken Swahili getting the gist of the question took some time. Speaking of time this little kettle issue was taking forever to resolve and with the discovery in the attic of the wall separating our home from the attached home next door time was about to drag even further.

The plan now was to gain entry into the home next door by getting in touch with the Matron. The Matron however, like the rest of the management, was in an important two-day meeting. I was not optimistic that we would resolve the problem today and after a quick walk around the kitchen we found that none of the sockets worked, including the fridge’s. This was not a good sign as our main power had been restored. So off the boys went to find the Matron and get our water boiler back online.

I was surprised when, about 45 minutes later, the Matron led the electricians back to the house with keys in hand. She quickly opened the house and left without a word. But we weren’t after words, we were after action and that is what followed. With three electricians now buzzing around between the kitchen, our breaker and that of the neighbouring house, I was certain we would be boiling water in no time flat. But for some reason the work dragged on. I call it work, but in hindsight this period of about an hour and a half seemed only to be taken up by testing and retesting wires, screwing out screws and screwing them back in and a great deal of head scratching.

With the head scratching complete, the most accomplished or most confidant of my new friends gave the all clear and switched on the kettle. It steamed to life and in no time the little red automatic switch clicked down to signal that the water was ready for washing dishes. We checked the fridge for life as well and found it to be fine. The lights in the kitchen were once again glowing and the boys set off back to the shop for a late lunch.

We were happy that the work was done but shared a few laughs with Emma Stella over the amount of time it took to get this small repair done. Abby returned from Karina Neema’s house and was a little tired and wanted to watch a movie. This was fine with me but the laptop batteries were a little low and needed to be plugged in. I found the surge arrester and plugged it in to the socket in the living room. It normally has a little yellow light that comes on while it tests the circuit followed by a green light meaning its ready. Neither of these came on and I had a sinking feeling we had more electrical work that needed to be done. Then I almost slapped myself when I noticed I had neglected to turn on the socket switch, ‘oops’ I thought. I flipped the switch and waited for the yellow light, but nothing happened. Crap!

So I walked over to the shop to find an electrician and found one in the office. He came out to talk to me, or rather to listen. As this guy had not come to the house yet, I explained the work that had been done and the current (no pun intended) problem and asked that he come over. “No problem”, he said, and walked in the direction of the main shop office. I figured he was going to consult the shop manager and be over shortly so I walked home to wait. And, I waited. After about 45 minutes I headed back up to the shop to see what was going on, it was getting close to 2:30 and with a 4PM quitting time and the pace of the previous work, I figured time was of the essence if we wanted this new problem fixed today.

I found Alphonse, a guy I had spoken with a few times and asked for him to help me find an electrician. He turned to a guy that was standing close by and said, “here’s one”. It was the same guy I had spoken to 45 minutes earlier, but now Alphonse spoke to him in Swahili and made him follow me home. I realized on the way that he had no idea of what I had said earlier as he knew very little English. Oops!

Once we reached the house describing the problem was a little easier as I could mime it and Emma Stella could let fly the Swahili until he was up to speed. He grabbed his cell phone and called the guys that were in the house earlier and within a few minutes the whole gang was back. They spent some more time scratching their heads, testing circuits and climbing around in the ceiling. This was truly a confusing problem.

They were testing at the breaker and finding power and then testing directly above the ceiling, 12 inches away and finding a dead circuit. This caused more crawling around up there and more testing. Meanwhile, the guy that spoke no English unscrewed all of the sockets in the living room and tested them. To do this he had to go to the hole in the ceiling and call for the tester to be tossed down. With one tester for three guys, the pace of work was really slow. However, they were making progress; they had tracked the problem to, what I hope is, a junction box in the ceiling. The plugs soon had power again and they were all screwed back together. It was about 5 minutes to quitting time and the boys hit the trail after much thanks from us. I think we now have some good “electrician” friends. I hope the plumbers understand more English...

Mar 30

We rose early to the beep of our trusty Timex travel clock and I immediately hit the shower. It was so early that I forgot to turn on the light when I went into the bathroom and I was too tired to care, so I showered in the dark with only the glow of the bathroom's night light. The spray in the shower could peel the chrome from a car bumper but with the layer of sunscreen and sweat I had going I didn't notice it. The girls were stirring when I emerged from the shower and Nik had a quick shower while I got myself and Abby dressed. I organized the luggage and supplies for easy access and headed to find the luggage cart. I was able to haul a couple of our now 70+lbs suitcases down the 15 or so steps to the cart before help arrived in the form of two eager concierges. Only one was required, but many hands make quick work, but also more tips.

It took two full carts to take all of our things to the front desk and I was worried when I didn't see a large van in the circular drive. Thankfully our driver was a pro and had shown up in a Toyota land cruiser. He brought it around as the two concierges struggled to take the carts down the ramp to the driveway. Along the way they seemed to multiply as once it was time to load there were three of them. The new one was an older fellow who they deferred to for ideas on how to fit it all in. They argued back and forth in Swahili with the driver breaking his back inside juggling the enormous bags back and forth as instructed by the elder organizer. I gave my two bits in English and somehow the organizer understood and endorsed my plan and disseminated it to the team who sprung to action and had the truck loaded in a hurry. Nikki and Abby were crammed in the back seat with the food so I climbed into the front, on the correct side this time and we were off to the airport.

The drive to town was peaceful as it was just 6:30 and we were able to catch the sunrise over the Indian Ocean as we rocketed down Ocean Drive to the much busier streets that head into downtown. We entered the mainstream of commuters rather quickly and settled into the snail's pace with honks and waves and just too many cars. As we crawled along, motorbikes zoomed by in between the lanes as if immune to the possibility of cars changing lanes. Our pace quickened as we passed the center of town and we were at speed again in short order. This side of town is certainly less affluent than the Sea Cliff hotel area. The apartments are run down and there are many indescribable homes that do not look fit to live in.

This poverty was the first I have seen to this extent and we were only driving by, and at quite a speed, but it had a (cliche coming) powerful affect on me. It is still, a few days later, not possible for me to describe the emotions and information it gave me to see these homes and the people who live in them. Despite the living conditions these are a proud people and they come out of their homes with colourful, clean and stylish clothing. The walk tall and with purpose with smiles on their faces. We moved from the urban area into a bit of an industrial area and then there were people everywhere.

I was startled by the number of people who were on and by the road. It looked like a riot in the making and I looked to the driver and to Nik, who both appeared unmoved by the view. I asked, "What's up with this." and of course the answer made sense. It was a Dala Dala station and these people were simply beginning their day by heading to town. As we got closer I couldn't get over the sheer number of people swarming around, climbing into already full vans, jumping into the back of trucks weighed down by others and leaping onto the road to flag down a ride. We drove by at a slower speed and were in relatively open road again, but to my surprise another Dala Dala stop with the same swarming masses as the first. It was as if we were driving in circles but the road straightened out and we found the airport's old terminal where we were to catch our flight.

We pulled up to the front of the airport with plenty of time to spare and all we had to do was meet the pilot from Missionary Aviation Fellowship (MAF) at the departure area and board the plane. Of course we forgot that we were in Africa and nothing is as easy as that. A man with one of those reflector vests and an ID card swinging from his neck approached the truck and asked me who we were flying with and what my name was. I thought, 'this is going to be easy' as the man turned and rushed into the airport in search of our pilot. He did not return and after a couple of minutes the driver and I left the girls in the truck and went to search for the pilot ourselves.

We entered the terminal and quickly hit our first roadblock; there was an security point just inside the doors and no one was allowed to pass through unless they had a ticket. So we were stuck right at the get go as we were to get the darn tickets from the pilot who we were to meet inside the terminal which we could not get into without the darn tickets. (remember that part) So I went back to the truck to relay the information to Nik and the driver went to find other help. Nik and I went over the instructions she was given and we found that we were to go to General Aviation which we had assumed was the departure area. On looking at the airport we saw a business with the name "General Aviation" and figured this was the place to go. The driver and I approached the door, which was locked, and he spoke to a few women who were sitting outside. We found that there is not usually anyone there this early in the morning and that we would probably have to wait until 8AM as that is when they normally show up. This did not work as our flight was to be at 7:30 which was coming up fast. I called the number that was pasted to the door and spoke to the Manager who gave me a double whammy of a response when I asked if he knew anything about our flight. First was that he had never worked with MAF and second he couldn't help us out and let us into the airport as he was currently out of town. Terrific, back to square one.

I headed back to the terminal to see if a security guard would accompany me into the terminal so I could look for the pilot. The driver moved the truck at the order of the local police, who were no help I must add. I entered the terminal again and saw a familiar face. I had seen this guy at the Moven Pick hotel the day before while Abby and I were waiting for Nik to finish up at Immigration. Anyway he looked as though he had been here before so I asked him what was up. he was waiting for someone to bring him, of all things, a ticket so he could fly to Zanzibar. He said he had heard of MAF and had flown quite a bit from this airport and may know the pilot, "what's your pilot's name, I may be able to help." Well this was just another crucial piece of information that we did not have so I thanked him for the effort and as there were no security guards willing to help and the girl running the X-Ray machine did not seem interested in helping either I went back out to check on Nik and Abby and see if Nik had any other ideas. Meanwhile the driver had found someone to chat with about this and ask questions of. It didn't seem to help much but the driver was making some phone calls to some of his contacts to see if anyone may know anything about MAF. Nik couldn't believe we couldn't get into the airport and we thought it best to just take another look. After 40 minutes of pacing, searching and being dumbfounded by the whole experience I, for some reason went back into the hotel. I finally found someone on the other side of the security point, another guy in a reflector vest, and asked him if he knew where anyone from MAF was. He cracked a big smile and showed me his ID badge, it said at the bottom MAF ground assistant. I could have kissed him but for the 4 feet of table between us. He asked if there were three of us and if we were flying to Haydom I told him he had the right crew and headed out to get Nik and Abby.

I was so thrilled after this bit of stress that I was literally giving myself high 5's as I left the terminal to gather the family. The driver quickly drove to the front door and a couple of guys wheeled their carts to help. The MAF guy was on the scene in a flash and waved them away like a lion chasing vultures from a fresh kill and gave me a hand with the bags and food supplies. it took a few trips to wheel it the 20 feet to the X-ray machine. The girls walked through the metal detector and were waiting on the other side for me when I set the thing beeping and flashing. I couldn't help notice that the few Tz coins in my pocket were holding up the rapidly forming line of seemingly angry tourists heading for Zanzibar or Nairobi. I leapt back through the machine, set the coins on top of it and wen through again with no beeps, free at last. Our helpful assistant grabbed a huge luggage cart and loaded half our stuff on it; he and I took it out to the plane while the girls guarded the rest. I helped the pilot load the plane while the assistant headed back for the rest of our things. He returned quickly and as the rain started we loaded as quickly as possible while Nikki and Abby waited inside the terminal and out of the rain. Once we were loaded the girls were summoned and the boarded the plane while I got wet snapping a pic or two of our ride and then ran onboard.

We strapped into the third row of the otherwise empty plane for the first leg of our flight to Haydom via the capital city, Dodoma. The pilot gave his preflight speech on safety and hospitality, said a short prayer for a safe trip and we were taxiing down the runway in a light rain. The flight to Dodoma was very smooth a scenic. We headed straight north up the coast for a while as we climbed to our cruising altitude of 10,000 feet. The view of a river that was a great example of a meandering stream held my attention for a while, as did some truly billowing cloud formations. Once we hit 10 thousand feet we turned west and were flying between two layers of clouds for a while until we broke into crisp blue sky above and radiant pillows of cloud below. It was breathtaking. Through breaks in the clouds below we could see a small north-south highway with few vehicles and the odd small town with only a winding dirt road leading to and from it. At one point I noticed a dark mountain peak just visible as it jutted through the clouds like a crocodile's eyes on on the edge of a stream.

To be continued